


Conflict

by Semebay



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:22:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semebay/pseuds/Semebay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modified version of the IO Echo song. England angst, the America he can never have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conflict

**Author's Note:**

> Original Publication Date: March 21, 2010

  
  


He was cursed.

 

That had to be it. That would explain everything. The weird feelings, the _want_ to be with the other man.

 

It was wrong. So wrong. His country was at odds with the other, his people torn over the relationship. Some were proud that they held such a “special” relationship with the States, while others protested that the relationship had gone too far, resulting in the deaths of their loved ones. If not for the relationship, then their relatives would not have died, would not have been sent to a war for something that happened across the expanse of the ocean (though it was true that even those that questioned everything had felt the fear and disbelief on seeing the towers fall, and had felt the catch in their breath, the pausing of their hearts as the free world was attacked).

 

How could he want someone when he felt so conflicted about whether he should even associate himself with the other? When he was caught between contempt and relief when the other met with him, hating him for the loss of his people and the economy, but just delighting in the other’s company at the same time?

 

Arthur groaned and leaned back in his overstuffed chair, the tv droning on in the back of his mind (something about the protests, _again._ He could feel the all-too-familiar headache returning with each shout of disagreement). Alfred had wanted to visit, but Arthur had told him “no,” had told him that it wasn’t a good idea, that he just wanted to _sleep_ , and wanted to stay home and do nothing.

 

He _hadn’t_ told him that he missed him, that he wanted desperately to see him, to tell him how conflicted he was, how much he felt he needed him.

 

Arthur both hated and loved his people. They were like alcohol. His own feelings could be swayed by them in times of great stress, but he could also blame his actions on them. When he was tired in a meeting? Protests. When he caused a disruption? The economy, stress.

 

When he thought about Alfred?

 

The people.

 

Arthur groaned and sank deeper into his chair, rubbing his face with his hands. He imagined that Alfred would be coming soon. The git couldn’t stay away when he thought that someone wanted a bit of peace. He was impossible to handle. He could picture him bursting through the door, holding up movies and demanding food ( _“But not something_ you _cook. Something that I can actually_ eat.”)

 

Arthur shivered, a chill racing up and down his spine. He swallowed, willed himself to calm the breathing that had suddenly picked up.

 

They had played this game for hundreds of years. Neither was willing to give in to the other, neither had wanted to admit to the weakness of affection. Arthur didn’t really know what Alfred felt for him, but he was sure it was a familial love (if that). He was the big brother, the one that had been pushed aside in favor of new experiences. He had been let go, so that Alfred could grow stronger and bigger, discovering new technologies and new ways of living. He had been the chains that had held Alfred back, the one that annually clipped Alfred’s wings to keep him grounded. But now? Arthur was proud of the growth (if not a little resentful for the bastardization of his language and the pompous way of speaking the younger had taken up). He found that the changes that had shown themselves were rather fascinating, if not endearing. But he would never tell Alfred that.

 

That would scare him away.

 

Arthur sighed. He considered going for the cabinet and pulling out the alcohol he had stored away for emergencies, but it was very likely that Alfred would be arriving soon. With his conflicted mind, he couldn’t leave anything to chance. Alcohol would probably bring out the worst in him (it usually did), and he didn’t want to do anything that would chase the boy away, by admitting something undesirable.

 

He swallowed. He could never let Alfred know what was going on inside his mind. If the boy was disgusted, everything they had worked to accomplish together would be for naught. If he felt the same, it would be a happy ending.

 

But could he live with his feelings if the American refused him? There was a chance of Alfred loving him, but there was an equal chance of him being pushed away, and avoided until the end of time.

 

He could only stay silent. He could keep the feelings to himself, lock them away until his time was over.

 

And he could wait for the inevitable knocks on his door, and the knowledge that the person he opened the door to would never be any more than a friend, and a distant one at that.


End file.
